The Language of War, a Brittany Broski fanfiction

Chapter 1

It was raining again. 

The land of Broski Nation became use to this climate, the constant showers reminding them of the presence of it. Not a single civilian of Broski Nation dared to whisper it's name beneath their breath. It was rumoured even thinking of it's name could poison one's mind, twisting the crevices of one's brain into knots until you're under complete control of it.

And yet, said or thought, written or read, the showers remained, drowning the livestock of farmers and crippling the families of many in Broski Nation. 

The cobblestone path led her towards the tavern. Her white stallion's main once brained with gold wire entwined now was full of knots and matted. Her hand rested gentaly upon the stallion's neck as she reassured her companion. "All is good," she would whisper, "food will come." 

The stallion's hooves knocked against the stone, bringing her closer to her stop in her journey. There weren't as many taverns anymore in Broski Nation. Most buildings of the community were destroyed or ravaged, leaving very few materials such as food or weapons for it's civilians. The tavern was completely slanted to one side, wooden plants propped all around the building to keep it's roof up during the heavy rains. The lighting was dim, she noticed, only a few shadows danced across the frosted window as the faint sound of glasses clinking was heard. As her stallion approached the front door, the sound of laughter and furniture scrapping agaisnt wooden floorboards became more present. She delicately whipped her leg around, gently dismantling her horse. She ripped of her leather gloves and placed her bare hand on her stallion's snout, a slight smile grew on her face. "Do not worry, dear friend," she grinned, "wait out here while I calm my hungry beast." She glanced down at her stomach, a hollow growl rippled throughout her body. 

She was hesitant to open the door. What if they recognized her? She sighed, lifting a black bandana over her mouth and nose. The public mustn't see her, she realized. Not like this. 

The tavern door flung open. Everyone inside paused. Chalices remained in the air as if the celebration was frozen in time, cards in piles as coins were slipped into  one's pocket from a bad bet. They all stared at her in the doorway in curiosity. She soon closed the door to prevent anymore rainfall from entering the tavern than there already was, the buckets full of water signifying so. "All I need is a pint of coldest beer-" she glanced towards the frosted window, a white figure standing outside, experiencing the elements at first hand "-and an apple." 

"Who 're ya?" questioned the bartender as he spat into an empty goblet, digging a handkerchief inside and scrubbing it. "I ain't servin' no stranga'!" She scoffed beneath her breath. "This stranger is one you admire, sir. One you should respect!" The bartender threw his head back in laughter, revealing his smile of missing teeth. "I ain't respect nobody, lady." 

Anger pulsed through her veins. No respect!? she thought, beginning to laugh at the idea of it. She knew she shouldn't have, she knew it would be going against the very rules she set up. Never interact with the public, they may just be with the Red Death. Never show your face to your civilians in order to prevent giving false hope. Never reveal-

Her hand shot up to her bandana. She clutched it, stripping it away from her face. The civilians gasped. Chalices were dropped and shattered, card were scattered across the floor and coins were slipping between fingers. Everyone was shocked. It was her.  It was the supreme leader, the one who built this empire brick by brick. 

It was Lady Brittany, Leader of the Broski Nation.